Life
Food

Gifts from the heart

I'm a food person. But that doesn't mean I'm a gourmet cook or a gourmand or a food snob. I like simple, humble food. Rustic bread. Honey. A wedge of sharp cheese. A little pottery bowl of olives. A good burger. A homemade pie. A pot of hearty soup. And a dense, homemade, baked cheesecake, preferably served with raspberry coulis.

So many of my happiest memories involve food. Many are of my English grandfather who had me rolling out tiny lumps of pastry and kneading bread dough by the time I was three years old. And shelling peas. And helping to choose things in the little, local grocery store -- a bag of crisps, chocolate buttons, a packet of biscuits (usually custard creams), a small jar of raspberry jam.

Later, in Canada, my favourite class was home economics, where I thrived on learning how to make a good Bechamel sauce, lofty tea biscuits, or prepare mayonnaise from scratch.

When I went away to university, my degree always seemed secondary to what I was doing in the kitchen. One of my greatest accomplishments was feeding myself on a wickedly tight budget. I mastered broiled Welsh rarebit, French onion soup, a particularly beautiful banana cake, a fabulously easy French lentil casserole, cheese souffle, particularly dense fudge brownies, and shepherds pie. My university housemate (still one of my closest friends) always said I could make a meal out of an onion. Nothing, and I mean nothing, went to waste.

This time of year is particularly steeped in food nostalgia. The scent of gingerbread baking in the oven. Our mother's shortbread, or stuffing, or latkes. There's history encoded in our recipes, in our culinary traditions. These are the stories of our bloodlines, our ancestry. Over and over I come back to the fact that food is so fundamental -- such a big part of how we experience life. We feed the people we love. And we love the people who feed us. It's always been that way.

So each year, when my next-door neighbours come calling in mid-December with a sweet little tin of beautiful homemade biscuits and squares, I find it absolutely heartwarming. The tins are different every year. This year it's a little treasure chest with reindeer on it. Inside, tucked in neat layers of wax paper are Christmas tree cookies with one side artfully dipped in dark chocolate, Nanaimo bars, and chocolate peanut butter bars. I'm saving them. Just seeing the tin on my counter makes me happy.

Homemade food gifts are special. They mean you spent time, love and effort on someone else's behalf. Homemade jam, gingerbread cookies, iced sugar cookie cut-outs, granola loaded with large flake coconut and dried cherries, chocolate and candy cane-topped biscotti, Irish cream, caramelized onion and bacon jam, marinated chèvre, boozy olives -- these are a few of my favourite kitchen gifts. This year I'm doing rosemary and hot pepper-infused olive oil, maple balsamic fig jam, and "hairdresser's fudge." I like the fudge because it's a proper boiled fudge recipe (none of your cheating with sweetened condensed milk-type fudge). Fudge is such a great treat for anyone needing to eat gluten-free. This version is also nut-free. Never mind all the sugar -- this is the holiday season.

In my kitchen, I trialled two fudge recipes against each other: one an old family recipe that required a candy thermometer, a ton of effort often accompanied by sweating and swearing and a large possibility of failure; and the other, my hairdresser's sweet, simple no-fail fudge. I expected the old family recipe to be better. It is very, very good, but my hairdresser's fudge wins. Not only is it easier, it is every bit as buttery and smooth. With half the effort. And no swearing at all.

Lindy Mechefske is the award-winning author of Sir John's Table and A Taste of Wintergreen. You can find her blogging about her adventures in the kitchen at lindymechefske.com.

Hairdresser's No-Fail Brown Sugar Fudge

1 cup butter

3 cups brown sugar

3/4 cup full-fat evaporated milk

1 tsp vanilla essence

2 1/2 cups icing sugar

Generously butter an 8x8-inch glass baking dish.

In a good-sized, heavy-bottomed saucepan, bring the butter, brown sugar and evaporated milk to the boil over medium-high heat, stirring constantly. If you find the mixture catching or sticking on the bottom of the pan, turn the heat down a notch immediately. Once the mixture comes to a full boil, set the time for five minutes and continue stirring, making sure the bottom does not stick or scorch, adjusting the heat if necessary.

When the timer goes off, turn off the heat and remove the pan from the element. Stir in the vanilla and icing sugar, mixing well. Pat the mixture into the pan and set to cool before cutting. Cut in small pieces and store in airtight tins, neatly lined with wax paper.